


On the Taming of Russian Ice Kittens

by kalakagatha



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Aged-Up Otabek Altin, Aged-Up Yuri Plisetsky, Coming of Age, Foreplay, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, M/M, POV Alternating, Slow Burn, Teasing, mild d/s dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-21
Updated: 2017-05-14
Packaged: 2018-10-22 05:21:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10690599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalakagatha/pseuds/kalakagatha
Summary: The year Yuri Plisetsky is 15, he doesn’t care much for love in any form. When that traitor Viktor Nikiforov abandoned him for *puke* the love of that piggy Katsuki and Yuri chased him to Japan, he fully expected to get the “Eros” assignment. Not because he felt particularly full of erotic love, but because he already knew how to manipulate his appearance in ways he knew others considered erotic. He never thought about it much himself. It wasn’t emotion. It was power.But then fucking Viktor gave him “Agape” instead. Unconditional love. What the hell was that supposed to mean?





	1. Agape

**Author's Note:**

> My plan for this fic is three chapters, each corresponding to three Greek concepts of love: "agape," "philia," and "eros." Just as in the anime we start with agape, which is more like the unconditional love for gods or concepts (skating counts here, I think). Yuri will age up in each chapter as he learns, so the the time we get to eros he'll be 17 and Otabek will be 20 and everyone will be just fine with it, okay?
> 
> So: Agape is rated teen and up, Philia: Mature, and Eros: Explicit. I'll adjust the rating as I post.
> 
> They'll also get longer as we go, as befits a story going through these stages.

The year Yuri Plisetsky is 15, he doesn’t care much for love in any form. When that traitor Viktor Nikiforov abandoned him for *puke* the love of that piggy Katsuki and Yuri chased him to Japan, he fully expected to get the “Eros” assignment. Not because he felt particularly full of erotic love, but because he already knew how to manipulate his appearance in ways he knew others considered erotic. He never thought about it much himself. It wasn’t emotion. It was power.

But then fucking Viktor gave him “Agape” instead. Unconditional love. What the hell was that supposed to mean?

He struggled through learning the routine, struggled through the trips to the temple and the waterfall, and slowly came to appreciate the concept of agape by connecting it to his beloved дедушка and still lost “Hot Springs on Ice” anyway. Fuck.

Then Yakov introduced him to Lilia Baranovskaya and she asked him to sell his soul. Slowly, he gave over not only his soul but his body--practicing harder than he ever had before for his love of skating and his love of winning. He sacrificed it all on the altar of agape.

But a large part of refining “Agape” still involved manipulating his image. Now instead of the Russian Punk, he was the Russian Fairy. Fuck that. He was a fucking champion, is what he was. Eventually they’d see.

And then. Then, he met Otabek (or met him again. Whatever.) Otabek didn’t call him a punk OR a fairy. Otabek called him a soldier. Otabek didn’t put up with fools either, and Otabek wanted to be friends with him.

Friends. Yuri tasted the word. Rolled it around in his mouth. Having a friend might be fun, if that friend hated JJ on sight like Otabek. Friends could actually work.

All of a sudden, Yuri, without thinking about it very hard, had let all the pieces of agape slip into place inside his head and his heart. His дедушка. Lilia and Yakov. Otabek. Even the piggy and fucking Viktor. No matter how much he yelled and thrashed at him, they were there for him. He wasn’t quite ready to use the word “love” (except *maybe* for дедушка), but he could see. He could understand. He already had friends.

Not that he’d ever let any of those fuckers know.

***

Otabek was 13 years old the summer he spent at the Russian camp. Yuri Plisetsky was 11, and was the most talented thing Otabek had ever seen. He was overwhelmed with a desire to show these Russian snobs what a Kazakh could do, and he was just so out of his league. He probably should have ended up hating the kid, but he just couldn’t. His form was _so perfect_ and Otabek found himself stopping whatever he was doing to just watch him. He never spoke to him. Just watched him, and wished he could have half the grace Yuri Plisetsky had in his little finger. But in addition to all of that beauty and grace, he had the hard eyes of a soldier in the midst of battle, and that was what impressed Otabek more than anything. He couldn’t take his eyes off of him and his struggle.

Otabek ended up finding his own way to the top without ballet. So when he finally had a chance to speak to Plisetsky again at the Grand Prix Finals in Barcelona, he didn’t think twice about it. He wasn’t intimidated anymore, but he was still very interested in the balance of force and grace he saw in Yuri’s skating. Of course, what he saw that first night in Barcelona wasn’t terribly graceful.

Otabek had no interest in joining JJ and his...whatever that woman was to him for dinner. He turned his back on them without a second thought and settled his gaze on Plisetsky. 

“What are you looking at, asshole?”

Otabek had watched Plisetsky over the years closely enough to know that the words that came out of Yuri’s mouth frequently required translation from angry kitten to human being, and he was determined to begin work on a dictionary. But first, he’d need Plisetsky's interest. He already knew how to get that.

He turned silently and walked away from him.

The next day, it was simple enough to follow the frantic instagram posts of Yuri’s fanclub (foolish girls left the geotags on and posted right out in public) and rescue Plisetsky once they had cornered him like a feral tomcat in an alley. Otabek kept things simple for Yuri: “Come with me, or don’t,” “Be my friend, or don’t.” And just like a small boy trying to make friends with that alleycat by leaving food out but turning his back in order to signal that he really couldn’t care either way, Otabek found that he had made himself a friend for life. He just needed to prepare himself for anxious scratching while his new pet settled into domesticity.

Friends. They were friends, and that was all Otabek wanted. He could not care less about any of the other top skaters and their baggage and their messes. But he wanted to learn some of Plisetsky’s focus, and maybe he could even offer something in return.

***

Chat request from *ice_tiger*

Chat request accepted

Bekalt: I don’t think I know any ice tigers.

ice_tiger: Shut up asshole. It’s me.

Bekalt: Mmhmm

ice_tiger: you were fcuking robbed otabek. Imma get one of my angels to go all tonya harding on JJ’s knee next time

Bekalt: what, you wouldn’t do it yourself?

ice_tiger: only if you priomise to be my alibi

Bekalt: anytime.

***

Otabek’s phone rings one night in early February after a particularly brutal training day. He was preparing for Four Continents, figuring the absence of Giacometti and the Russians gave him a decent chance for the podium that eluded him at the GPF, but still concerned about Katsuki and LeRoy and their momentum. He’s absorbed in his thoughts and not really planning to answer the phone, but he looks down at the screen and sees “Plisetsky” and the user pic he set for him, a picture he took from across the table at the tea place in Barcelona: Yuri’s scowling face framed by matching middle fingers.

It’s late in Almaty, and he needs to sleep after the beating he got today trying quad lutzes in preparation for Nikiforov’s return. He answers the phone anyway.

“Hey asshole,” Yuri’s voice growls over the line, three time zones and almost 5,000 km away.

Otabek grunts and closes his eyes, preparing to let the soothing tones of Yuri’s angry ranting put him to sleep.

“Nikiforov’s lost his fucking mind, trying to pull off Katsuki’s little trick of the quad flip at the end of the free, and he’s driving us all fucking crazy. He’s either whining that he’s not getting it yet, or he won’t shut up about Katsudon’s _staaaaaaaaammmmmmina_.” Yuri made vomiting noises into the phone to illustrate his disgust and Otabek chuckled.

Yuri didn’t ask him how Otabek’s day was, which was fine because he didn’t really want to talk about it. He just wanted to listen to Yuri without any demands for reciprocal sharing. It was the perfect routine, and they did it almost every night.

When he had talked Otabek’s ear off for about an hour, Yuri’s voice suddenly got slow and quiet. “Are you sleeping yet Beka?” The only answer was the low breathing of his friend.

“Better hope you already plugged your phone in, asshole,” was clearly the angry kitten equivalent of the human, “Good night.”

Otabek wasn't actually asleep yet, so he made a mental note to add that one to his Yuri-to-human dictionary, then closed his eyes.


	2. Philia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, a second chapter with a higher rating. My hope is to finish this by next weekend, so stay tuned!

There was more than a month of training time between Four Continents and Worlds and in that time, Yuri Plisetsky would be turning 16. He had been acutely aware of this fact even _before_ Lilia and Yakov started in on him about how to train and compete through growth spurts in an attempt to ruin his life, probably.

Yuri was extremely torn about this upcoming birthday and the one or two after that. Russian skaters have a reputation for peaking early, Nikiforov notwithstanding, and Yuri would rather kill himself than let his career decline while still in his teens. Hell, he’d rather kill himself than medal lower than gold in Worlds after winning gold at the GPF _and_ at Nationals, because who was Nikiforov kidding, trying to win Nationals only weeks after getting back into competition?

But he had already begun to struggle on the back half of the season, and it was obvious that his growth was why. The training of an elite athlete in early adolescence can delay puberty and growth, but it can’t postpone it forever. He had grown 11 cm since December in Barcelona, and his limbs were longer. His center of gravity was shifting up, and he knew all he needed to do was practice until his muscle memory had adjusted sufficiently. But it was frustrating, and he didn’t know if he’d get it done in time.

“Fucking traitors,” he grumbled at his own legs after falling out of a _fucking triple_.

He supposed he could talk to Nikiforov, or even Katsudon for advice, but as soon as the thought occurred to him he shoved it away. He didn’t want their pity, or their sympathy. He just wanted answers. How was he going to do this without sucking?

There was only one person he could ask, really.

“Beka?”

A familiar grunt on the other end of the line confirmed that Otabek was listening.

“I need to ask you a question.”

Silence, at first. This wasn’t their usual routine. Usually, Yuri would rant and rave and Otabek would listen with very occasional comments and questions, seemingly content to let the younger man lead the conversation any which way he wanted.

“Anything, Yura.”

Yuri’s heart skipped a beat hearing Otabek call him his diminutive for the first time. He _knew_ it was the first time because he’d started calling him “Beka” in February, but the other man still called him plain “Yuri” or the bro-tastic “Plisetsky.” Never Yura before now.

Some part of Yuri’s mind wanted to examine that fact, explore the reasons and the implications, but that part of his mind was small and underdeveloped, so he pushed it away.

“How...how did you train through your growth spurts? How did you keep from sucking that year?”

Yuri assumes Otabek didn’t suck the year of his growth spurts, because there’s no room in his mind to entertain the idea of Otabek ever sucking. Otabek is the best. The best after Yuri Plisetsky, anyway.

“That year sucks for everyone, Yura,” Otabek begins gently. “But if you soldier through it, the next year can be your best.”

This isn’t what Yuri wants to hear (except for the calling him “Yura” again part. That part he could listen to over and over...) and he whines at the older man.

“There has to be some secret, some special conditioning exercise or routine that I can do to get this fucking body under control,” Yuri pleads at him. “And before Worlds. That’s fucking key.”

Otabek chuckles at his impatient young friend. “There isn’t. I’m sorry. But if anybody can power through a growth year and still come out on top, it’s you.”

Well, that’s certainly true.

***

The World Championship will be the first time Yuri and Otabek see each other in person since Barcelona, and Otabek can’t stop thinking about it. There’s still a week until Yuri’s 16th birthday, and he can’t stop thinking about that either. Yuri had sent him a short video of his most recent run-through of “Agape” with his taller body asking for feedback, and the older man found himself without words. Fewer words than usual, anyway.

He just kept watching it, over and over: at the rink, on his couch, in his bed. He hadn’t even realized that he had forgotten to give Yuri any feedback until the angriest kitten suddenly pinged him on Skype three days later.

“Hey asshole! Where the hell have you been? I’ve been waiting for your feedback!”

Shit.

“Hey Yuri.” Calling him Yura was too dangerous right now, Otabek suddenly realized. It’s not that he hadn’t always suspected, in the back of his mind, that his interest in Yuri Plisetsky was more than platonic. It was just easier to ignore that voice in the back of his head when the kid still looked like he was 12.

He squeezed his eyes shut once, and then focused on the topic at hand. There would always be time for that...later. He hoped the younger man wouldn’t notice the pause or the blink. Of course it had to be Skype this time.

“Sorry about the delay, Plisetsky. I had to watch it a few times to decide what I wanted to focus on first. You’re looking good, but your balance is still a little shaky in the combinations.”

Yuri blew a piece of hair out of his eyes while heaving a melodramatic sigh. “I knooooooooooow. Fuck.”

“But it’s looking much better. Keep at it. Your technique is solid, and has been for years. That’s pretty much the only thing that’s ever been able to guarantee performance after growth spurts.”

Yuri lit up, radioactive green eyes sparkling at they met Otabek’s and drunk up the praise. “Really? Thanks!” His baby elfin face had stretched into the high-cheekboned steel visage of a fashion model. Fuck.

Yeah, Otabek Altin was in trouble.

***

Yuri hadn’t been thinking too hard about his birthday except in combination with his height struggles. He had been standing rinkside lost in thought about finishing this season at another level of presentation, trying to figure out how to elevate the ethereal beauty of “Agape” now that he had grown out of the costume he had borrowed from Viktor way back in September when Viktor, Yuuri, Georgi, and Mila all surround him and start singing. His first instinct is to growl and scream at them to stop, swinging wildly.

“What the fuck, you guys?” 

Viktor laughed out loud, holding out a small box containing a honey cake that would probably completely blow his calorie count for the day. “Happy Birthday, Yuratchka,” he said softly. “Did you forget you turn 16 today?”

Yuri blushed quickly, noting Viktor’s gentle refusal to provoke him with his Japanese nickname in this moment. It made him think of his grandfather, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to think about Viktor in the category of “family member” at this moment in time, so he refused to reply with anything other than a grab at the box.

And then Viktor decided to ruin the moment anyway by adding, “You’re finally legal!” and waggling his eyebrows. Jesus Christ, what a douche.

Just to make things worse, he’s saved by the fucking Katsudon placing a hand on Viktor’s arm and murmuring, “Leave the poor boy alone.” Yuuri steps over to the younger man and touches his shoulder. “How will you celebrate, Yuri? Will you be talking to Otabek later?”

“Wha....Why would you think that?” Yuri stutters out. “Have you been stalking me or something, loser?”

Yuuri smiles softly back. “You text with _someone_ every day near lunch break, and all the rest of your friends are here.” He motions with his arm to Yuri’s rinkmates, still gathered around him, watching him react to this indignity.

“Whatever Katsudon, you’re not my friends.” Yuri stalks off with his box of honey cake, whipping his phone out of his pocket. But there wasn’t much heat in his voice, and he was definitely calling Otabek.

***

When Yuri’s number pops up on Otabek’s phone, he sighs in relief that it isn’t Skype again. His famous facial control has been failing him every time he talks to Yuri, looks at him, or even thinks of him. So basically all of the time.

“Happy birthday Yuratchka,” he softly says as he answers his phone.

There’s a long pause and what sounds like Yuri’s breath hitching in the silence. Could it be?

“Thanks Beka. Viktor gave me a slice of medovik and an innuendo, so I’ve thoroughly celebrated.”

Otabek felt rage settle in his chest and his face flamed. “Innuendo?”

“Oh, just some crack about me being legal now, as if that made any difference in my life at it stands.”

The fire left his face as quickly as it came, replaced by a dropped jaw and a stuttering heatbeat.

“Huh,” seemed the safest thing to say in that moment. He felt a twitch in his crotch and squeezed his eyes shut again. For the second time this call he silently thanked Allah it wasn’t Skype.

Yuri sighed and switched topics...sort of. “I’m going to need a new costume for ‘Agape.’ I’m about to split the seams of this one, and Viktor wouldn’t appreciate _that._ It’s still technically his.”

Otabek went back to hmming and nodding and letting Yuri rant into his ear. He tried really hard not to think about Yuri bursting right out of his "Agape" costume. He really did.

***

Yuri tossed and turned in that waking state where he could barely just tell he was still dreaming. It was...pleasant. He felt warm, comforted, and simultaneously hard as fuck. He was starting to get used to that: another benefit of his delayed puberty finally kicking in full force. He rolled over, burying his hard-on in the mattress and starting to rub himself into it. What had he been dreaming about that had given him this full-body feeling of contentment while still turning him on so much? His eyes fluttered open as he searched his memory, cobwebs clearing and images quickly fading as he reached out for them.

One image remained still enough that he could grab onto it and hold tight: a Kazakh brow over a pair of dark wide-set eyes, burning into his soul. Slowly, the body that belonged to that face also swam into focus. Yuri rolled himself onto his back again, gasping and sliding his hand down into his pajama pants, taking himself in hand while recalling Otabek’s hands on his body, his mouth on Yuri’s neck. He could still feel the weight of his friend’s body on top of his while Otabek kissed him, softly and slowly. Yuri squeezed his eyes shut, pounding and twisting his dick and trying to muffle his own noises. He put all his energy into breathing instead, but gave one quick keen as he came all over his hand and his pants. His eyes shot open as he waited for his heart rate to settle back down.

“This is fucking Viktor’s fault,” he said to the empty room.


	3. Eros

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Otabek is pleasantly surprised when Yuri settles himself in his lap at Nikiforov’s room party. He feels like he’s been personally claimed by the King of the cats, and he can’t help himself: he starts petting him. His hands have gone immediately to Yuri’s waist and his mouth to his ear, and he leaves them there for the first five minutes or so, simply holding this long-legged bundle of purring tooth and claw.
> 
> It’s like their long silence didn’t even happen, like they could just pick up where they left off. And where they left off was in tentative, slow exploration of what they could be to each other. “Do you want to be my friend or not?” “Do you want to be more? Or not?”
> 
> Rating's gone up. Mind the tags.

The year that Yuri Plisetsky is 17, he isn’t talking to Otabek Altin as often as he used to. By silent mutual agreement, somehow, they had stopped texting and skyping so much. Yuri blames himself, mostly, but he’d never be able to accept responsibility out loud. It’s just awkward and painful at the same time, to be so intensely attracted to a friend who also lives three time zones away. It makes Yuri angry to even see Otabek’s face without being able to touch him, so he’d rather just not see him at all.

Yuri’s still angry all the time, regardless.

He supposes that he could do some random hookup in the hopes that it could release some of his pent-up energy and angst, but every time the thought enters his head, he pushes it away. He doesn’t _want_ some random hookup. He wants Otabek, and he can’t have him. Nothing’s going to fix that, and no one else is worthy of him.

They weren’t assigned to any of the same Grand Prix events that year, so Yuri poured himself into training to make sure he made the finals, and hoped and prayed that Otabek would be doing the same. Maybe it would be worth breaking their radio silence to tell him. Or maybe he’d just keep kicking his own ass and taking out his frustrations on Yakov and the other skaters at the club.

Yeah, that sounds like a plan.

***

Otabek is struggling with his plan to let Yuri come to him on his own. It was a good plan, he thought, and appropriate. If you love someone, set them free, and all that. But he _missed_ Yuri, so much. He trusted that he and Yuri would always be in each other’s lives, but he was also getting anxious and tired of waiting.

Not that he ever let any of this on. Anyone watching from the outside saw only Otabek’s intensity and focus on getting back to the Grand Prix Finals. If they could both get to Nagoya, then maybe they could finally make something happen.

If Yuri wanted to, that is.

Otabek still wasn’t sure what Yuri’s feelings were, which wasn’t that odd if he thought about it. Yuri was generally obvious with his expressions of anger, but not any other emotion. Otabek had seen little flashes of interest or shyness when they talked, and he was confident that there was something there. But what if Yuri wasn’t?

Ah, well. Cross that bridge when he comes to it. For now, skate.

***

Yuri’s Grand Prix events go well. It helps that both Viktor and Yuuri retired this year, and have become part of his coaching team rather than staying his rivals. There are a few new Senior skaters moving up this year, but none of them are ready to challenge Yuri. He comes in first at both Skate Canada and the NHK Trophy.

He’s watching Otabek’s progress closely, and is more than pleased that he’s come in first at Skate America and second at the Trophée de France. They’ll be together at the Finals in Nagoya.

Yuri has not idea what he’s going to _do_. He just knows he has to do _something_. He can’t keep feeling this way. The dull, empty ache in his chest is too much to bear.

As soon as he has the gold at NHK wrapped up, he impulsively picks up his phone and texts Otabek. 

_See you in Nagoya, asshole._

At this point, “asshole” is like Yuri’s pet name for Otabek. It’s the first thing he called him, in Barcelona, and he can’t help reminding himself of that moment every time he sends the vulgarity in Otabek’s direction. That feeling when Otabek just turned his back on him and walked away! An exquisite pain that he now recognizes in his everyday life. He needs Otabek’s attention, his presence. Now that he has an in-person meeting to look forward to, he’s going to get that attention back

 **Looking forward to it, Yura**.

Yuri takes a deep breath and grins when he sees the reply.

“Let’s do this.”

***

It’s the second anniversary of the GPF that fucking Viktor likes to call his “glorious triumph,” wherein two routines he choreographed both beat (his own) world records. Yuri rolls his eyes at Viktor repeatedly, but when Viktor announces he’s going to have a room party to celebrate on the first night they’re in Nagoya, he doesn’t say no.

Otabek will be there.

In fact, once Yuri finds his way to the room party that first night in Nagoya, _everyone_ is there. He rolls in late, red leopard hoodie up over his head and slung low over his hips and his skinny black jeans. He sneers at the room as everyone calls out, “YURIO!”

They’re all arranged in front of the television in Viktor and Katsuki’s monster suite. Everyone who had been in Barcelona who is also at Nagoya is crowded around that fucking TV, getting ready to watch _The Cutting Edge,_ like the massive skating nerds they are.

Otabek is sitting on the floor, with his back to the couch where Phitchit is curled up under a fleece blanket, his hands and his phone sticking out, illuminating his face. Otabek’s voice hadn’t been one of the ones bellowing his name, but when Yuri’s eyes light on him, he holds the eye contact and smiles warmly.

Here goes nothing, then.

Yuri strides over to the far end of the couch where Otabek sits with his knees bent, and settles himself down directly in front of him. Taking a deep breath for courage as silently as he can, he puts his hands on Otabek’s knees and spreads his legs so that he can settle right up against his crotch. It’s not like he hasn’t sat like this on Otabek’s bike before, he tells himself. I can still claim some plausible deniability if pressed. But then Otabek responds by sliding his hands around Yuri’s waist, and whispering in his ear, “Hello stranger,” and Yuri stops worrying about whether he’s gone too far.

Instead Yuri grins and leans back against him, simultaneously glaring around the room to dare any of the motherfuckers in there to say a single word about it. Chris just grins back at him with an approving look, Mila’s got her hands over her mouth, clearly trying not to squeal, and Phichit looks annoyed that can’t take a picture of the two of them with the shitty angle he has from behind. Viktor is tapping his finger on his lips like he always does when he’s plotting something stupid, and Katsuki just looks pleased. _Way_ too pleased.

“Whatever, assholes,” Yuri grumbles. He’s got a reputation to uphold, here. “Roll the movie.”

The movie’s not the important thing, not by a long shot. But Yuri doesn’t want their attention on him any longer. Not when he’s got...plans.

***

Otabek is pleasantly surprised when Yuri settles himself in his lap at Nikiforov’s room party. He feels like he’s been personally claimed by the King of the cats, and he can’t help himself: he starts petting him. His hands have gone immediately to Yuri’s waist and his mouth to his ear, and he leaves them there for the first five minutes or so, simply holding this long-legged bundle of purring tooth and claw.

It’s like their long silence didn’t even happen, like they could just pick up where they left off. And where they left off was in tentative, slow exploration of what they could be to each other. “Do you want to be my friend or not?” “Do you want to be more? Or not?”

Otabek knew that his role as the older man in the relationship as well as Yuri’s temperament made it impossible for him to push. He also knew that the low-pressure wait-and-see approach would work. After all, it already had, that first night in Barcelona.

Now, he was rewarded with a taller, older, *slightly* more mature ice tiger, starting to grind against his lap. In response, he slid his hand from Yuri’s waist under his hoodie and back to his waist and pinched him gently. Not enough that he would make a sound, but enough that he would get the message.

“Behave yourself,” he whispered into the young man’s ear, but belied the order by keeping his hand under the hoodie, lightly gliding over the skin underneath. “You’re going to make it hard for me to walk out of here later.”

***

Yuri smirked. Oh, this was going swimmingly.

He leaned back and looked up at Otabek’s face behind him. Whispered, “Is that so?” with the most innocent voice he could manage. So, not that innocent.

Yuri pulled the hoodie off over his head, shuffling out of it while relishing the continued body contact between himself and Otabek. He dropped the hoodie in a pile beside them and was about to pull the other man’s arms around him when he suddenly felt the sensation of fingers in his hair. It was exactly the right amount of pull, firm fingertips on his scalp dragging down to the tips of each lock, untangling the pieces that had tangled under the hood. Yuri audibly hummed, then clapped his hands over his mouth. Fuck. How had he forgotten that they weren’t alone?

All of a sudden, he was covered with a soft darkness. They both were. Otabek chuckled, but Yuri thrashed. “What the ever-loving hell?”

Phichit giggled at him. “I figured you two could make better use of my blanket. Nobody wants to watch _that_. Not when _Cutting Edge_ is on.”

“Toe pick!” Chris chirped.

“There’s nothing happening over here, you’re all just a bunch of fucking pervs!” Yuri screamed at them, while simultaneously arranging the blanket so that it covered him entirely and pulled it up to his chin, nestling himself under Otabek’s. That man, for his part, just chuckled and went back to carding his fingers through Yuri’s hair.

HOW was this so erotic? Yuri had had his hair done by other people in the past; usually Lilia or Mila--which may actually answer his internal question, right there. Being touched this way by someone you’re attracted to makes an enormous amount of difference. Yuri grabs Otabek’s ankles, still lined up beside Yuri’s thighs, and pulls them across his own lap. Otabek squeezes Yuri with his thighs in response, so that’s all right.

Both Otabek’s lap and Yuri’s hands were under the blanket now, and Yuri decided to push his luck again. He slowly moved his hands up the outside of Otabek’s legs until he reached the older man’s ass and started squeezing and caressing his hips, digging his thumbs into his pelvis, and simultaneously rubbing his own ass against his crotch again. He hears Otabek take a quick breath in and he grins in response. _This_ is all he wants: Otabek under his power tonight, and maybe every night.

Otabek’s response, however, isn’t one that Yuri could have predicted. “That’s it, kitten,” he growls loud enough for the whole room to hear as he stands fluidly, scooping Yuri up and over his shoulders in a fireman’s carry. “I apologize to our generous hosts,” Otabek proclaims, “But Yuri is not currently fit for company, and I need to take him back to his room.”

Yuri’s face flushes entirely red as he pounds his fists into Otabek’s shoulder. “No fair, Beka! What the fuck? Put me down!” The rest of the skaters hoot and holler as Otabek crosses the room in only a few strides and smoothly exits, closing the door behind him.

“About fucking time, huh?” Chris giggles, as the rest of them refocus their attention on the TV.

***

Otabek refused to put Yuri down, even once they were in the hallway, instead gripping him more tightly as he walked them to the elevator.

Yuri’s struggles were only performative at that point anyway. He could tell that the younger man liked the way Otabek had taken control.

“Beka? Bekkkkkkaaaaaaaah.... Where are you taking me?”

“My room,” Otabek growled.

“And what are we going to do when we get there Bek-ah?” Yuri breathed into Otabek’s ear. Oh, was he trying to retain some control, even while literally being carried off like a kidnapped princess? His whispering, breathy voice threatened to undo Otabek’s resolve to get them somewhere private. He had to stay strong.

“Depends on how well you behave yourself Yura,” Otabek maintained the low, growly voice. He could feel the effect it had on the younger man, who tensed up every time Otabek spoke this way to him. He felt Yuri take a deep breath, whispering it back out, “Yessssssssss. How far is your room?”

Having arrived at the elevator and found it blessedly empty, Otabek hit the button for his floor. “Only one floor down. Be patient, kitten.”

Yura growled. “Already been patient enough, dammit.”

“If I put you down, will you be good Yura?”

“If you put me down, Beka, I will be _terrible_. Yuri modulated his voice back to a whisper again, “And you’ll _love_ it.”

The elevator door opened then, and Otabek wasted no time marching Yuri right down the hall toward his private room. They passed one other hotel guest in the hallway who gave them a strange look as they crossed paths. Yuri waved and grinned as they approached and both men collapsed into giggles as they reached Otabek’s door. Otabek quickly unlocked the room and slipped in sideways, protective of Yuri’s head and its distance from the doorframe. He took two long strides into the room and threw Yuri on the bed, turning to make sure the door was locked from inside and the “Do not disturb” sign was prominently displayed.

***

Yuri arranged himself as seductively as he could imagine after Otabek unceremoniously dumped him on the bed. He propped his head up on his hand, arranged himself on his side, and patted the bed in front of him. “C’mere, Beka,” he breathed.

Otabek, of course, chose that moment to get all chivalrous or some shit. He walks over to Yuri, but instead of jumping his bones on the bed, he crouches next to him and takes his face in his strong, tan hands. “Are you sure this is what you want, Yura?”

Yuri rolls his eyes and lets out his most frustrated sound, “I have never been more sure of anything in my _life_ Beka. Get over here!”

Otabek slowly climbs next to Yuri, arranging himself on his side as well, face-to-face with his friend. “We haven’t actually talked about this, you know. We’ve barely talked at all for the past 6 months...”

Yuri covers his eyes with his forearm, rolling to his back, “I knooooooow, okay. Once I figured out what I wanted, it was just too torturous to talk to you every day, to see you over skype and not be able to touch you. It was so goddamn distracting, I just went cold turkey. Threw myself into training. But now you’re here. And I _neeeeeeed_ you, Beka.”

It was everything Otabek had been waiting to hear, everything he had patiently been wanting since Barcelona. He answers Yuri’s need with his mouth, but without words at first, taking Yuri’s breath away with the immediacy of his kiss. It was shallow at first, teasing. Otabek added to the tension then with a warning tone. “You’re lucky I was willing to wait, Yura.” He nipped at the blond’s bottom lip, gently. “Next time use your words. We can work this out together.”

Yuri opened his eyes wide, looking up straight into Otabek’s. “I don’t deserve you. I know that.”

Otabek blinked back at him, “And yet you have me. Completely.”

At that, their mouths finally crash together bleeding need in every direction. Yuri moans under Otabek’s tongue, questing into his mouth, claiming the territory for his own.

They take their time with the kissing, enjoying this new aspect of their relationship in a leisurely way. Tomorrow was only open practice, not a performance day, so they had as much time as they would ever have to just enjoy each other all night. Otabek puts his hands back in Yuri’s hair and strokes it with a pressure that matches his lips and tongue. Yuri groans and arches his back, reveling in the attention and leaning into it like the cat he is. Otabek moves his mouth to Yuri’s neck, kissing and biting down to his collar while skating his fingers upward under the cloth.

Yuri makes a frustrated noise and strips himself of the shirt, throwing it halfway across the room. Otabek makes an appreciative noise and immediately sets to stroking and kissing up and down Yuri’s muscled chest. Yuri runs his fingers through Otabek’s hair, remembering how good it felt when the other man had touched him that way. “Beka?”

“Hmm?”

“You are wearing entirely too many clothes.”

***

Otabek snorts in response and peels his own shirt off at the same time.

A point of warmth erupts in his chest and radiates outward as he watches Yuri’s eyes widen at the sight of Otabek’s skin, so close to his face, and in an entirely new context. They’d seen each other shirtless often enough in the past three years--in locker rooms and such. It made a very big difference when the shirtless chest was pressed against your own lying across the bed in a hotel room.

“What else do you want Yura? Tell me what you want me to do.”

Otabek is surprised by a quick shift in Yuri’s face, an...uncertainty that he’s not used to seeing, but in retrospect isn’t that surprising. He moves a hand up to Yuri’s face, cradling his cheek and stroking his eyebrow with the edge of his thumb. “Hey. I’m serious. We’ll only do what you’re ready for, and everything you’re ready for. I’m not going anywhere, and we have all the time in the world.”

Yuri lets out a deep breath that Otabek hadn’t realized he was holding and shakes his head. “I want everything, and I want it now. But Beka...I’ve never done any of this stuff before. All I knew was that I wanted you. I wanted to touch you, and I wanted you to touch me. But now, I have no idea what I’m doing. And in four days you’ll be gone again. I don’t want to feel like I’ve missed my window. Missing you really fucked me up, Beka.” Yuri has turned away from Otabek, burying his face in the mattress, unable to look him in the eye and express actual feelings at the same time.

Otabek gently moves Yuri back to face him, continuing to stroke his face he captures Yuri’s eyes with his own, coffee on emerald, and holds them until he can feel Yuri’s breathing mellow out and his body relax beneath him.

“Yura,” Otabek finally breaks the silence with a low, quiet voice. “Thank you for using your words. I do not mind the waiting. There is exquisite pain and pleasure in anticipation and denial. And now, in this moment, I am more than happy to just be able to lie here with you, to be able to touch you now when I couldn’t for so long. And if you want more than that, I will accept that as well. Never think that you owe me anything.”

Yuri smiles at him, a smile that Otabek saw so rarely--a true smile, not a sarcastic smile or an angry bearing of teeth, but an expression of true contentment. “I knew that part already Beka. I’m not worried about pressure from you. You’ve always let me figure things out at my own speed. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.” He takes a deep breath. “It’s figuring out exactly what I want that’s so difficult for me. And honestly?” Yuri lets all the air out of his lungs then, and murmurs so quietly that Beka wouldn’t have been able to hear him if they weren’t lying face-to-face, ear-to-mouth. “What I _really_ want is for you to take control.”

Otabek gasps hearing these words fall out of Yuri’s mouth, feels his cock twinge at the vulnerability that Yuri has gifted him. He wants to wrap himself all around the younger man, protect him from the world while peeling back every layer of rage and petulance that he knows--has always known--shields the tender and bruised soul at the core of Yuri Plisetsky.

“I mean, when you picked me up and carried me down the hall and threw me on the bed? That was fucking hot, Beka!” Yuri was grinning again, but not all the walls were back up yet. Otabek had _seen_ him, knew now what he wanted. And he was going to give it to him.

***

It _hurts_ , being this honest. Yuri squeezes his eyes closed with the pain of it, then pivots to brat, because that feels safer. But he knows it’s too late. Otabek is looking at him with the smolderingest--is that a word? It fucking should be, because that’s exactly what he looks like--eyes he’s ever seen and he can’t help but squeak when the older man’s hands take both his wrists and push them above his head, maintaining that smoldering eye contact the entire fucking time. _How._ Yuri cannot look away. He’s a deer caught in headlights, and Otabek’s about to run him over.

Otabek holds both Yuri’s wrists in one of his massively solid hands, and it feels _so good_ to not have to think anymore about where to put his hands. Then Otabek is kissing him again, more deeply this time. His tongue is rigid and penetrates Yuri’s mouth in obscene ways, eliciting groans that Yuri’s only half aware are coming from his own throat. Suddenly Otabek’s mouth has left Yuri’s and lands at Yuri’s ear. “Can you keep your hands above your head, or do I need to tie them there?”

Yuri gasps for what seems like the hundredth time that night, feeling a warmth spread throughout his middle. “I...I can do it, yes. For you.” The headboard has vertical slats for him to grab onto, so he does, willing himself to stay in that position. He’ll show Beka. He’ll be _so good._

Otabek moves down his body, kissing a trail down his midline and trailing his fingers on each side, skating them so gently down Yuri’s ribs that the younger man twitched, slightly ticklish. He squeezes the headboard slats more tightly, pushing the excess sensation into the frame. He’s focused so intently on not spazzing out at the tickling that he almost entirely misses the fact that Otabek’s started stripping him of his pants.

_Oh._

***

Otabek lets all the air out of his lungs once he finally has Yuri Plisetsky laid out naked before him. “God, Yuri, you’re so gorgeous.” The younger man blushes prettily, still clinging to the headboard, stretched out the length of the bed. He’s already incredibly hard, clearly enjoying all of the attention Otabek is lavishing on his abs and over his hips, whimpering because the older man isn’t touching his cock yet.

“Bekaaaaaaah, stop fucking teasing.”

“Shh Yura. Enjoy the anticipation. It’s half the fun.” Otabek flattens his tongue and laves it over Yuri’s inner thigh, running up to the crease connecting thigh to groin. Yuri’s breath stutters. Otabek rounds Yuri’s hips with his hands, running them underneath and grabbing an ass cheek in each, squeezing and kneading the muscle while pulling Yuri’s legs apart with his knees. Keeping this hands on Yuri’s ass, he dips his head down and licks the length of the younger man’s cock. He’s already oozing precome. Otabek knows he won’t be lasting long.

Yuri moans, desperately. “Otabek, I swear to fucking god, if you don’t surround my dick with something soon...”

Otabek cuts off the threat by covering Yuri’s mouth with his own. His body fits over Yuri’s, covering him like one of those weighted stress blankets, settling him down. He still has his pants on, and he brings a knee up between Yuri’s legs, finally giving him something to grind on.

“You wanted me to take control, kitten. This is all I wanted, to see you come apart under me like this. You’re so perfect.” Otabek kisses Yuri again, desperately, bringing his hands up and tracing the tension in the arms that still hold the headboard, down the strength of Yuri’s core, and finally, finally, wraps one hand around Yuri’s cock and cups his balls with the other.

Yuri’s so keyed up with tension and anticipation that it doesn’t take long for him to come, keening and whimpering. Otabek only has to pump him three times before he spills all over his stomach, gasping for air. “Let go, baby,” the older man whispers in his ear. “You can bring your arms down now.” Yuri brings them right around Otabek, clinging to him as to a life raft.

It takes a moment for Yuri to come back to himself, and while he waits Otabek continues stroking and petting his lover’s body, avoiding the more sensitive areas now, but continuing to reassure Yuri that he is loved and appreciated.Before long Yuri’s eyes are wide open again, blinking up at the ceiling. Otabek catches them with his own, grinning as recognition dawns in the younger man’s face and he blushes again.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

“How was that?”

“Ohmigod Beka, that was amazing. I just...”

“Just what, kitten?”

“I wish I could have lasted longer. I know I can last longer than that.”

“Yura, don’t worry. The first time with someone else is always fast. We’ve got all the other times to work on your stamina.”

“How many times?”

“All the times. Every time. Any fucking time you want.”

Otabek grabbed a box of tissues from the side table and cleaned Yuri’s abdomen, kissing the area after he wiped it. He pulled the blankets up over them and arranged Yuri on his side in front of him so he could spoon up behind and murmur more assurances in his ear.

“Beka?”

“Yes, love?”

“What about you?”

“Don’t worry about me, love. I got everything I wanted tonight, believe me.”

“Mmmm. Just what you wanted for tonight?”

“Tomorrow’s going to be a completely different story.”

“You got that right. Tomorrow _I’m_ fucking _you_ right into the mattress.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this was later than planned! I ended up in the hospital for a couple of days (fine now, no worries), healing up by reading ALL the otayuri and pouring everything I wanted for them into this chapter. I hope you like!


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